Lyara carefully put a morsel of the steaming-hot roast fowl in her mouth and then rolled her eyes appreciatively. "Oh, now that is delicious!" she exclaimed and turned to the woman who was her hostess. "You would be doing me a great favor if you could tell me what you did to make the meat so tender."

"I did little, Ly'ara," Shendra mispronounced Lyara's name in a way that added a touch of Vri'ia'ani music to it. "Ki'ushi meat is always tender."

"The world of herbs and spices isn't known here," Yiren leaned toward her companion. "We eat of the fruit of the trees and their nestlings as they are offered to us. That taste is seen as sufficient – although…" She blushed at the admission, "I WILL miss the flavor of a well-seasoned roast after a while. Corwin made it a habit of only having the finest of seasoned meats for his meals, and that was my favorite…"

"So being among the chan'vrii wasn't entirely a bad experience?" Farranby asked her – and then noticed that the other Vri'ia'ani were leaning in to listen to their conversation.

"At the end it wasn't," Yiren answered calmly. "But before that – especially at first – I was terrified. There are many stories told in the trees of the danger that befalls those who find themselves lost among the chan'vrii – of losing one's way back to the ways of Nature, of never seeing another tree, of having to live as a chan'vrii who would understand what it is one has lost… Some of them are true, many of them are nothing but invention to help children remember to be careful when away from the h'suni'il." She looked at Lyara. "Since you have traveled much and lived in many different places, perhaps such tales are told everywhere…"

Lyara nodded. "My father and mother told similar stories – warning of being separated from the steppes and our ponies and our gods, and what such a loss could do to a person." She thought a moment. "There was more truth than illusion in my father's warnings, though…"

Jilan took a draught from the wooden bowl that held a subtlely flavored water and found it refreshing. "Parents tell such stories everywhere, I think," he commented. "Mine were cautionary tales about what it would be like to be away from civilization and the rule of the King – and the chaos that must rule in places like that. I'm afraid that my parents' stories were almost all fiction – but then, much of Talandri life is built upon a fiction anyway."

La'ak stood and motioned to the other members of his h'suni'il gathered around other warming fire-bowls to come closer. "The Time of the Telling seems to have come early this night," he announced in a voice that carried across the woven platform. "Our honored guests speak of much that would be of interest to us – and this gift should not be squandered." He held up a hand when Lyara would have answered Jilan's statement. "Please, Ly'ara, wait until all can hear your words."

Nearly twenty people were soon gathered in a silent and attentive circle around La'ak and his guests, from small children still in their mothers' arms to serious-faced men. All had brought their share of the feast food – and each sat back on their heels and picked at their thin wooden plates with dainty fingers, much as Yiren was doing. "Now," La'ak nodded to Lyara, "we will hear of the many things you've seen and heard and done."

Lyara looked around the circle on intent faces and then turned back to La'ak. "I don't know where to start," she said uncomfortably. This was even worse than standing up in front of a whole group of chereti and trying to teach navigation!

"Tell them of your homeland," Yiren suggested. "To them, life on the ground would seem to be the same everywhere – but I know from my life with Corwin that places are different and people are different…"

"I am Kauwlut," Lyara said after nodding appreciation for the suggestion. "I was taken from my parents' tent in a slave raid many years ago and sold to a Fishing Master by the name of Vandor and taught to pilot a boat to gather fish from the sea."

"What is 'sea', honored Ly'ara?" a small voice sounded at her elbow, and Lyara turned to find herself under the scrutiny of a young and very intelligent looking young boy.

She smiled. Of course these people would never have imagined… "The sea is land completely covered with water to many, many times deeper than your trees are high," she explained and watched several sets of green eyes widen in disbelief. "I swear by the fang of the Wolf-Faced One who is the guardian of my people that my words are the truth," she added then, touching the fetish in her hair gently and with respect. "A boat is like a small, wooden bowl that floats on the sea and carries us – with big sheets that we hang to catch the wind to pull us along. We use nets similar to what you sleep in to drop into the sea and pull out the fish that we can eat."

"And you won your freedom the same way I won mine?" Yiren asked.

Lyara nodded. "I waited and saved up my freedom price and then went into service with the Guides for a number of years. That's how I met Jilan – he hired my services to take him north to my old homeland looking for a member of his family captured by my people."

"Did you see these 'boats', Yiren of Ta'alanru'an?" Shendra inquired respectfully.

"No," Yiren answered with a shake of the head, "but I did see drawings of them in the home of one of my owners. They are as Ly'ara claims," she smiled at Lyara at following Shendra's example of making her name into one that sounded almost Vri'ia'ani. "At first I was like you, having a hard time trying to picture so much water that a man can stand in a bowl that floats in it. But my mistress told me stories of having come from across that water in her young days, from a land far from ours…"

"I've heard of such people," Jilan chimed in, excitedly, "but there is very little knowledge of the lands from which they come or how far one must go to find these lands."

"Vandor told me that if I ever became totally lost, to sail always to the rising sun," Lyara remarked. "He said that if I sailed to the setting sun, I would end up in a place where I would not be welcomed – but only after going such a long distance that I would be nearly dead from lack of fresh water by the time I got there…"

"All this water, and you cannot drink it?" the boy chirped with a skeptical frown.

"The water of the sea is not fresh and sweet," Lyara told him. "It tastes sharp and will not take away thirst – indeed, it will only increase thirst to the point of making you sick."

"And your story, Ji'lan of Talandri?" La'ak urged.

"I am from the city Tandri, where the stone buildings rise as tall as your trees, build by the hands of man."

There was a collective gasp. "Do the stones not steal your vri'i, then?" A dour-faced man countered in shock.

"Talandri all live in houses made of stone," Jilan told him. "The building where we found Yiren was built of stone…"

"You were lucky you had a shelter for your vri'i," Shendra commiserated with the young red-haired woman. "Small wonder we call such people chan'vrii."

"What do you do in these houses of stone?" La'ak asked hesitantly, shooting his i'ilim a glare of caution not to offend guests performing sha'adrah.

"For a long time, I was a scholar – a man dedicated to learning things," Jilan continued. "But when I began to travel with Lyara, I began to find out that so much of what I'd been taught to be true was, in fact, illusion. The Kauwlut weren't mindless savages living like animals on the steppes to the north – and the rule of my King is not justly administered across the land. And now I am learning that my people know next to nothing about yours."

"How can you learn things about another place or people without going there yourself or hearing the words of those who have? I don't understand." The young boy who had interrogated Lyara now turned the focus of his logic to the yellow-haired stranger.

"What's your name?" Jilan asked in return.

"I'umi."

"Well, I'umi, my people have learned how to preserve the words of others so that those in the days and years to come can understand them." Jilan wished he had his bundle nearby, for he could have pulled out one of his notebooks. "We make marks that stand for sounds and words on something like a very wide, white leaf from a tree and then care for it…"

"You don't have Rememberers, then?" I'umi's eyes were very wide now. "I train to be the Rememberer for the trees of I'ins – and what I hear I must learn to repeat correctly with but one hearing. Is this like a 'scholar'?"

Sharin gaped at the young boy, who was no older than ten. "You mean that you will learn all of the traditions and stories of your people?" She shook her head. "That's unbelievable! It must take a whole lifetime to learn!"

"I have been learning since I could speak clearly, Shari'in of Talandria," I'umi stated proudly. "My father is Rememberer before me, and I shall teach my first son to be a Rememberer when the time comes. This is the way of our people."

"You are very much like a scholar," Jilan finally answered the boy's question. "You learn so that others can learn from you."

I'umi nudged the younger girl sitting next to him, almost upsetting her plate. "See? I'm not just a Rememberer, Ishara, I'm a 'scholar.'" The girl glowered at him and shoved back far less gently.

"Do you have a story to tell, Farranby?" La'ak asked, knowing the proper way to keep a lagging Time of Telling moving apace.

"It is his story that gives reason for us being in your trees," Sharin commented and then slipped her hand into Farranby's.

"Tell us!" several voices urged.

"I have been many things in my life," Farranby knew the proper way to begin a Vri'ia'ani story, "but the most important was being a husband and father. Long ago, my brother, who was a very bad man, killed my i'ilim and stole my daughter. For many years I believed my only child dead –to find out not long ago that she was sold to a slave trader who made his way south and eventually died in the trees."

"Your daughter has been living among Vri'ia'ani, then?" a voice from behind him inquired.

"I'm not sure," Farranby said with a sad shrug. "All I know is that he was headed south and ended up dead in the trees – where he sold my Herrista, or maybe she died on the journey, I don't know. So I come south this time hoping to hear of a yellow-haired girl who lives in the trees." He turned to I'umi. "In your time of listening to visitors to the trees of I'ins, have you heard of one such as I described?"

The boy shook his head. "I'm sorry, honored Farranby, but I have heard no such tales," he said slowly. "Perhaps you should ask my father. His skill at Remembering is far more practiced than mine – and he has been to more Festivals to collect stories from other Rememberers than I have."

"Is he here tonight?" Farranby looked around the circle of faces for one that would begin to stand out in order to be recognized.

"My father ails – he told me to listen carefully and tell him all the stories from tonight's Telling," I'umi answered.

"Then will you ask your father if he will honor me by speaking to me before we leave your trees to continue on our way?"

La'ak nodded firmly. "I myself shall see to it that you spend time with Orun and ask your questions of one who would know."

"It's Shari'in's turn now," a young voice called from the outer circle.

Sharin looked around the circle of faces and found not one of them unfriendly. She took a deep breath and finally began to tell her story of death and rescue too.

"So which way do we go from here?" Lyara asked Yiren as the path before them branched in four different directions. "Do you know where your home is in relation to the trees of I'ins?"

"I'ins is part of Hoaru'an, and so we must go toward the center of the Great Forest to reach Ta'alanru'an. We have several tendays of walking before us." Yiren pointed to one of the forks and led the way to it. "Ta'alanru'an is close to where the fire and ice mountains rise out of the Forest."

"That sounds like where we need to go," Lyara murmured to Jilan, "at least, that's what Topiara and Nilyaron have made clear to me."

"Your Wolf-Faced One is taking care of you from a distance," Jilan told her with a smile of admiration, "to have you provided with a guide from a place so close to where your destiny wants you to go."

"Us, Jilan," Lyara replied quietly. "This journey is not for me alone – you are an important part of this quest."

"How far between h'sini'ils?" Sharin asked Yiren, still uncomfortable enough on the high, narrow path that she couldn't resist running her hand along the vine guides on either side of the woven ribbon.

"H'sini'il normally are no more than one day's walk apart," the redhead replied. "Now that we are actually in the civilized trees, we may come upon a foraging party collecting for tonight's dinner to help us know our distances better."

"Are we going to have to tell the same stories tonight as we told last night?" Lyara wanted to know.

"Perhaps," Yiren smiled over her shoulder. "You have to admit, some of what you were telling us sounds unbelievable. To think of water covering the surface of the land deeper than our trees are high!"

"I'm sure we can each come up with different angles to our stories so that we don't burn out telling them time after time," Farranby remarked. "After all, maybe not all of us need to tell our story in an evening. You have to admit, the Time of the Telling went on until quite late last night. I didn't think La'ak would EVER stop asking questions!"

"Then again, I haven't slept so well in ages as I did in that net," Jilan remarked with a sigh. "I used to think that a soft mattress was the epitome of luxury – I'm tempted to see about getting one of those nets and using it all the time, no matter where I am!"

"Do I get a say in the matter?" Lyara joked with him. She too had slept very soundly, and awakened both rested and comfortably nestled into his side in a way that made all other forms of intimacy almost painful to consider. What would it be to have the privacy to make love in such a thing, she wondered.

Farranby snickered. "You'd better at least get Lyara's permission on that one, Jilan, or you'll be in that net by yourself."

With that, the five broke into easy laughter and kept moving steadily along the woven path high above the writhing mess on the forest floor.